


Escape

by Yunimori



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Holoforms (Transformers), Short One Shot, Transformers as Humans, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 05:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yunimori/pseuds/Yunimori
Summary: Writing Prompt From TumblrShockwave is unused to having a human body. It is strange and wonderful all at the same time, being organic, even if only temporarily. What is even more wonderful is that no one knows who he is.





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> I'm copying all of my Shockwave and Optimus/Shockwave ficlets and drabbles from my tumblr accounts over to my ao3 account. Most of these are going to be incredibly short (hence the drabble tag), and either in short-form format or 100 Themes Challenge format.
> 
> This is just for my own peace of mind, making sure they are safe from tumblr's random purges.
> 
> However, feel free to read them and let me know if you enjoyed them!
> 
> I do also take writing prompt requests still yet, whether here or on tumblr.

There was something strange about being human. It wasn’t the oddity of having organic systems, nor the lack of cool metal in his joints, nor even the strange…denial? of transforming ability, outside of the single _shift_ in perception and reality that would return his Hard Light Holo human body to that nebulous area called “hammerspace” and put him back to normal. 

All of those were strange, of course. Feeling blood beat through his body at a staccato tempo instead of the smoother, breathy _flow_ of plasma running through his veins in time with a _breathe-feel-flow_ corebeat was odd. It was…faster, somehow. Like this body knew it ws supposed to have a shorter timespan to exist, and so made his blood pump faster, _harder_, to try and get as much _life_ out as it could before he ceased. 

He was soft in ways that he shouldn’t have been. His skin gave under his touch more, it shifted colours more abruptly with pressure and lack of it, instead of the gradual, slow rainbow he was used to. This skin felt simultaneously warmer and colder than his normal skin. 

Breath moved in and out of his lungs with startling regularity, save for when his emotions changed…which was all the time. That was nothing new, his lungs worked much the same way in his usual body. The oddity came from the sensation of his heart beating just a touch faster with every inhale, as though this body were so_ eager_ to live that it sped up the process just slightly with every breath. He knew the biological reasons behind it, but it still felt…odd.

Yet none of these were what made him feel so strange when he was human.

Outside of the few who knew him at the base – the other Cybertronians, the human military crew – humans…didn’t look at him. Not entirely, anyway. Those who did had an air of visual appreciation or simple indifference, much the way all humans looked at each other, he’d noticed. 

They didn’t watch him. No one kept an eye on him to make sure he wasn’t going to suddenly morph into a beast and start kidnapping children for torturous experimentation without any signs of care or empathy. No one looked at him as though he was less than the rough brown soil beneath their feet. 

No one looked at him like he was still a mindless, cold monster. 

At first it was…disconcerting. If that could truly be the word used. To be _ignored_ without it feeling as though it were out of spite or self-imposed_ will_, to not have the feeling of eyes watching every move he made with sheer hatred, waiting for the moment he could be leapt on and torn to shreds, since his punishment had not been the ‘justice’ so many had wished on him? The sensation was alien to Shockwave. He was used to hiding within himself while not appearing to hide. Used to holding his head high despite the stares, the near-physical _hatred_ that rolled off of so many, and pretending with everything within him that there was nothing there, because he could do nothing to make up for it save apologise again and again. 

But here? People didn’t look at him. He wasn’t recognised. Wasn’t feared. Wasn’t _hated_. He could walk down the street and not have that nagging little voice in the back of his head telling him that he had to watch, or he’d be nearly killed again, for the crimes his body committed while he was soulless. 

Occasionally a human would smile at him if he accidentally caught their eye. Random strangers. People who had no idea who he was, who didn’t _care_. All they saw was a short, red-headed Asian man with bright teal eyes and too many freckles. Sometimes in the company of a tall black man with beautiful salt and pepper hair and even more beautiful blue eyes, and he’d once gotten a thumbs-up from some random woman when she realized he was holding Op’s hand. That didn’t happen back home. He could smile back at people without being cursed. Without being turned away from. 

It was strange to not have that anxiety dogging his every step.


End file.
